With a spurt of two inches, he startled even the most skilled masters.

"Master Chen! Have you mastered the hidden force?" On the other end of the video call, Li Xiangning’s face was flushed with excitement, clearly having watched the footage Chen Jue sent him.

To Li Xiangning, Chen Jue was half a fellow disciple. Though Li himself had never managed to cultivate the hidden force—barely having reached the peak of the visible force—Chen Jue, guided by his single phrase of instruction, had turned around and achieved it. Li felt a certain pride in this accomplishment, as if sharing in the honor.

But wasn’t this progress a bit too fast?

How could such a formidable skill as the hidden force be mastered in just two days at home?

Could it be that Chen Jue was truly a rare genius, one in ten thousand?

And the effect of the hidden force, jetting needles underwater—so direct and vivid!

Li Xiangning had visited Wudang Mountain before, exchanging techniques with those Daoist masters and experiencing the power of the hidden force first-hand, but never had he seen anyone unleash such a terrifying display as Chen Jue’s.

Could it be that those Wudang experts, who had practiced hidden force for decades, were outdone by Chen Jue’s newly acquired skill?

With these doubts swirling in his mind, Li Xiangning conversed with Chen Jue over the video.

“I succeeded by luck!” Chen Jue replied modestly. “It’s all thanks to your instruction, Master Li!” He clasped his hands in gratitude, then proceeded to share his insights from practicing underwater, as well as his speculations about the origins of the boat fist, possibly rooted in Quanzhen Daoism.

Li Xiangning listened intently, his astonishment growing. At last, a look of realization dawned on his face, though he couldn’t help but shake his head and sigh. “So the force takes its own shape in water—so that’s the principle! Alas, my talents are limited. Achieving the visible force is already my limit; reaching its peak is beyond my dreams. But now, with your precedent, Master Chen, our boat fist lineage finally has a worthy figure to represent us.”

“I don’t dare claim credit,” Chen Jue replied with humility. “If you ever need my help to promote boat fist, just reach out. I’m always willing.”

He was merely an ordinary man with somewhat advanced martial skills, unwilling to be burdened by fame or dragged out to be admired. Yet, out of gratitude for Li Xiangning’s guidance, he didn’t refuse outright.

“Heh! I know you’re a man who lives like a monk, avoiding trouble! I’m not even close to retirement, so I won’t trouble you with promoting boat fist just yet,” Li Xiangning laughed. “But if someone ever comes to challenge us, I’ll certainly call on you for help.”

After several exchanges, Li Xiangning had come to understand Chen Jue’s temperament. Despite being in his twenties, Chen’s conduct was exceptionally traditional—honest, righteous, and straightforward, so much so that even Li, a man in his forties, enjoyed his company.

The two of them chatted for over an hour, mostly revolving around the topic of the hidden force.

When Li Xiangning raised questions about the strength of the hidden force, Chen Jue could only attribute it to his abundant energy and slightly superior physique, brushing aside any suspicions. Li, having seen few people demonstrate the hidden force, was taken in by the explanation.

…

While Chen Jue and Li Xiangning were video chatting, in the outskirts of a major northern city, an SUV sped in from downtown and pulled over outside a large compound.

A sturdy young man in his early twenties stepped out. He was well over six feet tall, with rough skin, broad shoulders, and long arms, exuding a steady air. Yet, upon leaving the car, he moved swiftly, nearly sprinting into the courtyard.

“Aunt Ming, is the old master home?” he called out to the housekeeper, who was sweeping dust in the yard.

“Ah, Xiao Jun! Yes, he’s here! The old master just had some ginseng soup and is watching TV inside,” Aunt Ming replied, dusting off her apron.

“Good! Aunt Ming, you carry on. I need to see him.” With that, the young man headed straight for the innermost room of the compound—a spacious, winding hall, clearly built with considerable expense, the mark of a venerable old residence.

He passed through the main hall and entered the inner living room, where he found the elderly gentleman reclining in a rocking chair, watching television.

The old man’s face was ruddy, his skin wrinkled with age, yet his hair was a mix of gray and white, a testament to a life well tended.

Seeing the urgency in the young man’s demeanor, the old man asked, “My good grandson! What brings you here in the middle of the night to visit these old bones?”

“Grandpa! I missed you and have something to ask.” The young man knelt beside him, playing a video on his phone.

The footage was precisely the underwater force demonstration that Chen Jue had posted online.

“Grandpa, take a look—is this the hidden force you described?”

“I’ve been stuck at the visible force for years. Today, I happened to see this video online, so I came to seek your guidance,” the boy said, holding out his phone.

The old man’s interest was piqued. He turned off the TV, sat upright, and examined the video several times.

Though only a few seconds long, the footage made the old man tremble, his blood rushing to his face, more flushed than before.

This was a normal physiological response to psychological stimulation—shyness, embarrassment, fear, or shock could all cause it.

But this old man, seasoned by decades, had seen all manner of turmoil. Why would a mere video provoke such a reaction?

The young man, baffled, knelt silently for a while before hearing his grandfather sigh softly, then finally exclaim, “Remarkable skill!”

“Grandpa, is this really the effect of hidden force, jetting needles? Not fake?” the young man asked.

“You! You haven’t practiced properly, so you can’t grasp the essence of hidden force—and thus can’t tell real from false.” The old man shook his head. “I could barely manage underwater force in my youth, but my power was nowhere near this master’s level.”

“Look at the rim of that glass tank—at least three inches high, yet this person’s force shoots two inches underwater, concentrated and unwavering. Unheard of!”

“Such stamina! Such power! Perhaps only Sun Lutang—the Martial Sage who claimed invincibility in the Republic era—or your ancestor, could have managed two-inch underwater needle force like this,” the old man’s eyes burned with fervor.

“This person is that formidable?” the young man exclaimed, startled.

“Far more than you imagine—ten, a hundred times stronger!” his grandfather replied. “Where did you find this video?”

“A master capable of such a demonstration surely intends to inspire disciples. In the old days, this would have been a closely guarded secret—outsiders would have their skills abolished for seeing it! Where did you get it?”

The old man’s tone grew stern, suspecting his grandson had stolen the video from some prestigious lineage.

“Grandpa… I downloaded it from an online forum!” the young man stammered, quickly explaining.

“An online forum? What on earth is that?”